Rapid Deterioration
by McNineSpike
Summary: Fate has a way of changing the course of a life time. When Dick and Tim get into a car accident, leaving Dick spiritually wounded and Tim physically wounded there can be no easy explanation. Tim is the only one with the knowledge to unravel the threat in Gotham, and his condition is one of rapid deterioration. A story that tests the strength and resiliency of the soul.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- Set in Pre-New52 verse.**  
**Disclaimer: I don't own DC or any of its characters in _Rapid Deterioration. _**

_Chapter 1 _

_Breaking Fast _

Dick draped his wrists over the steering wheel and listened intently to Tim's rapid explanations in the seat next to him. The vigilante-detective briefed him on a very crucial case that tied their civilian lives to their cape lives.

New competition for Wayne Enterprises in Gotham, likely a shell company for LexCorp. Though the jury was still out on that conclusion, as Center Tech Incorporated seemed to exhibit its own signs of autonomy in the board room.

The company first popped up like a corporate weed after Luthor tried and failed, yet again, to weasel his way into Gotham while Batman was busy with the JL.

For years, Luthor's ruses had only yielded inconclusive results, so who is to say he hasn't gotten more creative over time. The reality of a shell company, acting as Luthor's proxy is not farfetched enough that Bruce hadn't already considered the distinct possibility of such a devious move.

He tasked Tim with figuring out what CT stood for, and more importantly, who they stood for. Tim took the task with his classic vigor. With Bruce working the business angle and Tim working the covert angle, CT's constantly being investigated from all fronts.

"I transfered all the files to my phone last night because, surprise, surprise, after my hack, I detected some malware on my laptop."

Dick paused, glancing sideways at the world's most unassuming hacker master-mind. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans that probably went out of style last summer and a Dr. Who t-shirt, Tim appeared to be a standard nerd. Then again, Dick knew from experience never to underestimate the power of a nerd. He also knew that not much was standard about his brother's brand of nerd genius.

"What would possess you to use your own laptop?"

Tim didn't do things without good reason, so Dick was quite interested to find out why his brother wouldn't just use the Batcomputer. That machine is untraceable, besides why wouldn't a hacker do his/her work from the comfort of their own cave, perhaps a cup of hot coco in hand.

"As I suspected, as soon as I broke in, my location was triangulated. I quickly disabled that feature of the security system; however, it is impossible for me to ever erase that data."

"Smart move," Dick chimed back in, nodding along with his brother's defensive intelligence.

"Well, I can't take all the credit. Bruce was the one who told me to run the trace from my laptop."

"You know Tim, I guess the malware just confirms our suspicion."

"Dick, nothing is confirmed until we have hard evidence."

"Fine, fine, Captain No-Smiles. I guess, I mean to say, we now know we are looking in the right place, okay?"

Tim smirked up at Dick, proving his fourteen facial muscles were in fact capable of producing a smile. After spiting his brother, which earned him a dirty look hidden behind sunglasses, Tim took a long drag of his cool mocha frapuccino. He bit down on the straw slightly, speaking between the sweet taste of coffee."Whatever CT is hiding has to be important enough to infect foreign servers from interfacing. Not even Wayne Enterprises have malware packets installed in cases of hacking."

"Why," Dick asked, while following the GPS directions closely. Truth be told, he hadn't been to Bruce's office in a while and the geography in Gotham and Bludhaven just blurred like grey watercolors washing through his head. Sometimes, all Dick could see were the misfortunes lurking at every corner like predators in each landscape. Every corner was home, yet the dark alleyways foreshadowed doom in a way that never felt homey.

"Well, that is a simple enough answer, because Wayne Enterprise's firewall is linked to the batcave server and that thing is like Fort Knox on steroids."

"True that, I just assumed Bruce would have a back up for his back up, you know the usual Batman paranoia."

"I am his back up for his back up, but that is a whole different conversation."

The two paused at a light, and Dick checked his phone for messages. He might as well text Damian because he'd just started to break through to the caged bird. Damian needed a figure to look up to, much the same way Jason did when he was younger. However, unlike the pain of those broken memories, Dick planned to do his best for Damian. Leaving Damian at home with Alfred to go with Tim, even for just a little while, could feel like a betrayal to Damian. Though, Dick loved his brothers equally, he also recognized that Damian was never taught how to love or to bond.

A simple text took only Dick a few flicks of his fingers, yet he knew it helped Damian stay connected.

_We're almost there..._

_Be back soon!_

Damian's reply was quick and terse, just as Dick knew it would be.

_TT _

Dick locked the screen to his phone and turned his attention back to Tim and the road. As an acrobat, Dick knew the importance of a solid balancing act, his emotions, his family ties with his brothers were no different. With Tim though, balancing became less about staying on his toes, and more about having fun on the tight rope.

"You know, Tim, we shouldn't need a reason to take a car ride together. We should just drive around like this more often. As your big brother, it's my job to insure you are properly cultured and socialized."

"You know what Dick, you are probably right about that. All my culturing and socializing happens after dark with criminals. Who knows what damage that is doing to my social competency. The last thing I want is to end up like, you know, the demon. He is the pinnacle of improper culturing and socializing."

"Okay…well… Don't let Talia hear you say that." Dick smiled, and because he loved his brothers, there was no guilt in making light of their little quirks.

"What about Bruce?" Tim shot back, quirking a brow.

Dick knew Tim was referring to their father figure's thoughts on Damian's social competency, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a joke about Bruce's many social eccentricities.

"Ah, are you sure that isn't the pinnacle of improper socialization?" He joked.

"Don't let Alfred hear you say that," Tim said, coming right back with a joke of his own.

"Touché." Dick raised his hands, and with a saucy look from Tim, he placed all ten digits back on the wheel.

"Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week," Tim said. He actually planned to ask Bruce if he could stay for the week at the Manor. It would give him full access to the cave, as he desperately needed to train. At home he could also wash his laundry without using those annoying tokens that he was always losing. Clean clothes and a fit body weren't his only reasons though, the last was simply wanting to spend more time with the family and on this case.

Tim liked to think of himself as a pretty _self-aware _person, a little in denial about his emotions, spiritually a little out of his element, but conscious of his will nonetheless. In his bones, no dark pit of denial drowned out the feeling of finally shedding light on the CT case.

"So, are you planning to hit the late train back to University?" Dick asked, a dark brow quirking up over his sunglasses. The acrobat had a strange way of reading his brother's thoughts and subconsciously helping him make up his mind.

"Actually, I think I'll stay for a while, if it is okay with Bruce. I'm starting to feel a little sluggish and smelly." Speaking his plans out loud made them seem all the more settled, concrete.

"I guess it is to the gym and laundry then, huh?"

"Yep, right after I get the okay from Bruce and upload the files from my phone to the Batcomputer. Who knows, maybe some of Alfred's home made ice-tea will be waiting for me?"

"Don't count on it, I just got Damian to try the world famous tea. Little D drinks it like it's water now.

"What does Bruce think of the brat's newest fixation?'

"He gets so mad, like it is my fault Damian likes it so much." Dick said, laughing.

Tim dipped his head to his mocha, sitting in the cup-holder. He took the straw between his teeth.

"Oh coffee, it seems you are the only sacred thing left in this world."

They stopped at another light, Dick checked the GPS again. Apparently, they were only a few minutes away. After this light there were only three more miles, Dick could probably swing there faster and arrive in more style. He hit the button for his phone and saw another text from Damian.

_Pennyworth wants to know if you'll be home for dinner. _

Dick smirked, that was Damian code for, _"I'm bored and miss you." __  
_

He sent a quick message back to his littlest brother.

_Don't worry, maybe take Titus on a long walk and I'll be back with Tim. _

The response Dick got was instantaneous.

_Why don't I just wait and take Drake for a walk instead. _

Tim looked over Dick's shoulder to see a very lovely text from Damian. Clearing his throat, he got Dick to look up, "give the brat my love."

Dick raised his hands, but the light changed so he put his phone down, locking it once again.

Before Dick could find the right words to soothe the situation, Tim spoke, "I really don't mind Damian. He is a little brat, but I'm sure if I were put in his position I'd act the same. He is a brother-"

Dick rounded the corner not believing his ears-

Fate struck.

It leapt out of the shadows like a bat with red eyes. A vengeful monster that drained peace and solitude from the boys, leaving a hollow bloodless vulnerable shell.

A honk.

Dick cut the wheel to the right. The seat belts snapped like snakes spitting venom.

Tim braced his arms, readying himself for the blunt of the blow.

Slamming his hands on the wheel in frustration. Dick threw his seatbelt aside like a prisoner breaking free from shackles. The massive silver truck burst through on Tim's side. Avoidance didn't work. Dick went into protective mode. He made his peace. He would die to save his brother. With only foolish hope as a shield Dick covered Tim with his body.

Shaping, shifting, crashing, combusting, smashing everything, turning hard into soft and turning bone into dust. Dust that rose up in screams like steam from engines. Metal consumed metal. Metal struck metal. Bone struck metal. Blood struck metal.

Tim struck metal.

Metal consumed Tim.

The momentum of the crash threw Dick back against his seat. He'd never hated life so much as in that moment. His scream shattered the windshield. As hard as gravity pushed him, Dick pushed back tenfold. All the muscle control and training in the world would never be enough to defy gravity. He was Dick Grayson, he knew that first hand. Gravity always won.

The form laying next to him in the up-side-down SUV couldn't be his brother. Time slowed and like razors the image of Tim laying in a pool of blood, unmoving, was etched behind his lids. This is what nightmares are made of, Dick thought. No, no, he took his pain further. This is what's left of life after a nightmare becomes reality.

His hands were red with the guilt he felt only in his soul. Grinding teeth against the pain, and feeling it barely, Dick pulled the bigger pieces of glass from his torn fingers. The left hand was freer than the right, so he used it to rip a whole in the upholstery, forming a bandaid to start the clotting process.

On impact one of the lenses to his sunglasses shattered, and he retched them off his face as if they burned.

The car breathed fire from its engine. From the back forward fire licked its way to them, consuming the remaining upholstery with it. Orange and yellow reflected in Dick's blue eyes that turn mad with determination. Recognition shined along with the fire in his eyes, leaving Dick with the simple thought of escape.

Bolts on the car door gave way when Dick kicked it out with a snap like bones.

He tore out of the car. He didn't care who saw the wounds covering his body. Moving, he felt like a puppet with limp strings, his body wouldn't bend or lift to his will. Everything echoed around him. The people running, yelling, talking rapidly, flames rising, glass crunching, stinging, bouncing off the walls of his mind like a bottomless pit of noise.

The sounds sent back a cloud of memories that he shook away along with the ashes clinging to his body. Now on his feet, Dick went into full Nightwing mode. The rubble became weightless pain as on his knees he dug his brother out of the mess, searching for any sign of life.

Hot metallic parts hit the road next to the wreck. Piece by piece, Dick freed his brother's body from the wreckage. While he worked nightmares of digging up his brother's grave flash before his eyes, branding themselves to his soul with furious fire. Becoming permanent features of his psyche, like a tattoo Dick will forever see behind his eyes, the razor etching the pain tipped in the blood of his brother.

He didn't save his brother.

Tim fell into his brother's lap, with all the strength Dick had left he brought himself and his brother to his feet. He looked up and consciously took in the sounds of sirens and flashing lights that had echoed in the back of his mind for a while now. Dick chose a spot near the closest ambulance, running for it he called out.

"We're out," he called to the fire fighters approaching their smashed car. In a moment the entire scene crystalized, the sight of the totaled car looked to be nothing more than black melting putty. Adjacent to their car, two other cars were scattered like giant broken domino pieces. These two cars hit each other while trying to avoid the crash happening before them, a chain reaction. Dick looked back to the silver SUV, where a the truck that crushed his brother landed on its side, wheel still spinning. Other than the front end damage sustained from hitting them, that truck, the first to collide was almost unscathed.

Actually, the defensive position reminded Dick of something Bruce had taught them. He quickly filed that away with the part of his brain still in Nightwing mode.

A group of EMTs noticed Dick when he called out and they were all running to him now.

Dick froze. The group of EMTs approached, they toted a stretcher complete with oxygen and IV drip. He surrendered his brother to their hands, resting his grasp on the stretcher as the EMTs came to a stop in front of him.

"He sustained blunt force trauma, he needs a brain scan," Dick began, "he lost a lot of blood." The muddy reddish brown staining Dick's clothes was evidence of that, "he's lactose intolerant, other than that no allergies."

A woman with mousy brown hair and glasses stood before Dick.

Squeezing Dick's hand, she spoke, "sir, you've been more than help and I appreciate that. I assume this is your brother, blood or not the bond is clear to me. Now, you have to trust me," she took Dick's bruised face between her cold clean hands, "I am going to take care of your brother. You need to take care of yourself as well. I ask only that you come with us, so we can help you."

Dick smirked, mustering up as much levity as he could, "that's the best offer I've had all day. Thank you."

Following close behind, Dick continued to hold his brother's hand all the way to the bright red ambulance. He clambered inside as best he could. Once seated, his whole body collapsed. Adrenaline finally left his veins, leaving hollow space were survival based energy dwindled into the darkness that threatened to swallow Dick's conscious.

His phone rang.

The EMT tending to him spoke, "Mr. Grayson, I can't advice you to answer that call. You need to rest. You and your brother have been in a major ordeal."

Dick tried rolling his blue eyes, but it didn't seem to have the desired effect on the EMT.

"I assure you, I can take it. My life is an ordeal." Dick said, trying again for a false levity that tasted bitter on his tongue.

With a slide of his bandaged finger his phone came awake. The line was opened.

"Bruce, I think we're going to have to reschedule the visit."

* * *

_**A/n**_

_**As the title suggests, this is a very fast paced story that only goes down hill from here. I've studied the brain and brain damage extensively (hint hint). This story will obviously deal with the result of the accident. I'm sorry for the slightly awkward grammar, I normally write in active voice so passive voice is a bit wonky for me. I'll be working out the rough spots as the story progresses. **_

_**Please review: Tell me what you think of the first chapter and point out any grammatical errors that might jump out at you. Depending on feed back, I can have the second chapter up tomorrow as I am really excited for this story and tend to write relatively fast when motivated (hint. hint.) **_

_**~MC **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**D**__**isclaimer: I don't own Batman or any of the characters in Rapid Deterioration**_

* * *

_Chapter 2 _

_No one to answer the call _

Darkness. That was all there was. Just an endless, soupy darkness, like trying to see a reflection in a bowl of molasses. Susurrations like swirling whispers, flickers of sounds chased after Tim, shedding dulled edges of grey light in the all consuming black of his barely conscious mind. Hot sticky warmth wrapped around Tim like a blanket weaved from thick velvet.

_Am I dead?_ He wondered as he tried to distinguish what exactly, he was listening to, if anything at all.

_Death felt warm, _Tim concluded. _If there was a feeling, I'd say this would be warmth. Not completely unpleasant, yet something isn't quite right. _Even so, Tim was ready to surrender to this sensation of limbo. Floating, content, then again, Tim reared up, the flare of unfinished business spreading cold fingertips wide in the warmth. Opening himself to an awareness beyond life, beyond death, Tim heard the echoes of definite sound. A rolling sound, deep, thundering below him, a heavy heartbeat falling out of rhythm. The earthquaking continued as the cloud of his mind began to grey.

There was a clang of metal. A door, no doors, slammed at the top of Tim's head, rocking his body back and forth with the impact. Cold air whizzed past his face, filling his nose with a sharp sterile sting.

_Stop!_ Tim wanted to scream at whoever was doing that to cut it the hell out, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to move his limbs. Or even feel them at all. The numbness closed around him like a vice, squeezing tightly, like a punch from Bane.

_ Where was Dick? Did he get out alive?_ Tim's thoughts raced through his veins, more effective than any fear toxin. Fragments like racing flames burned through Tim's thrumming mind. He was in the car. He sat next to his brother. He braced his arms… Then a body, not his, to defined, to broad, was thrown by a force like a bullet leaving a cocked gun.

In a dark place Tim didn't know manifested energy, let alone rage, he slapped Dick across the face. _Why did that idiot always have to go protecting everyone within a 5 mile radius?_ When he returned his hand to his inner eye, it was red with guilt. _If he's dead. Oh God, if he's dead… _Tim didn't even want to picture Bruce's face if he found out. If Tim got out alive and Dick didn't. The sun of their world would cease to exist, leaving them all in the darkness that now consumed Tim's core.

The sadness Tim would see in Bruce's eyes._ He wouldn't be able to survive it the second time. Jason's death almost killed him… Dick has to live._

The sureness in his thoughts matched the solid sound of metal rolling over tile. Ramming down the long hallway like a bolt of Captain Marvel's lightening, Tim laid unmoving strapped to a stretcher. From all around, doctors swarmed to aid the EMTs running the stretcher through the doors.. A doctor in a white lab coat with blue eyes tagged a female wearing scrubs, and they rushed to Tim's side. They shoed away the other doctors and began speaking rapidly.

"We've got a 19 year old Caucasian male with several broken ribs, pulmonary contusion on the right lung, and a possible cerebral hemorrhage!" The voice that slammed into Tim's ears was deep and full of authority, the force of it ringing against his eardrums. He tried to form coherent thoughts, but he failed to take hold of the words being spoken around him. In his ears, they were merely a song without a melody. He wished only to comprehend the meaning.

"What's the pulse rate on him?" The same thunder rang.

_When did it start storming in here? _Tim thought, his mind shielding itself in the thick of a subconscious delirium.

"50 over 60 and dropping fast." A second voice called, its volume smaller like an echo from a great distance. Tim much appreciated the hushed sound, less like thunder

"Get him to the ICU immediately. And see that Dr. Turner is informed!" The voice was becoming steadily more muffled, the sudden burst of thunder forgotten, not even an echo. It was as if the voices, the storm, had changed course, turning away from him. However, he still strained to catch shouted words, ignoring the burning sensation that was becoming steadily stronger. "I need a crash cart over here ASAP!"

_Was this what dying felt like? Where is the warmth from earlier? Maybe this is just too much... _Tim groaned at the thought. Double time, the burning became stronger, spreading slowly from his chest to his abdomen

_No, I can't be dying. _The thought grew like the pain in his now excruciating abdomen. Like one of Deathstroke's swords, Tim wanted to scream but no sound would escape his lips, leaving only building pressure.

_Where the hell were those hospital drugs I've read so much about. At least some morphine, even we have that in the Batcave, though no one uses it. _

Tim wanted to thrash. Shake off the pain like water, but his bones were led, static, locked.

"He's waking up. We better get him to a room before he starts to feel the extent of his injuries."

"He won't be conscious for long." This second voice was definitely female, a confident note, almost one of arrogance, coloring her tone.

_Well, at least one person knows what she's doing. That's at least a little encouraging. _With not much more wiggle room left, Tim was rapidly approaching the breaking point of his paint tolerance. Just then, a second tongue of flames licked across Tim's face, drawing another groan from his parting lips. In comparison to his pain, the sound was pathetic.

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" The woman's voice had moved closer to him now, her tone pitched lower and full of concern. Tim tried to speak, his mouth trembling with the effort, but he could only manage a sharp, stuttering gasp as the pain intensified.

A cold bite of metal pressed against his arm, distracting him from the pain just enough to feel the ghostly pressure of fingers on the inside of his wrists, their slender tips barely touching his skin.

"Dick?" he whispered, his voice barely a trickle as the clashing of voices and equipment rampaged around him.

"Dick…where are…" The pressure on his chest flared as he spoke. However, the thought of communicating with his brother fueled his fight.

"Dick," he rasped, his fingers stretching over the side bars, clenching down on the chilly steel as he tried to hoist himself out of the gurney.

"Sir, you must try to remain as still as possible," the woman warned, grabbing at his wrists and forcing them to the bed. Anger flared up in Tim at her insistence, his irritation allowing him to find even more strength in his weakening muscles. There was fight left in him yet, and he planned to use it.

"I need…to see…my brother…now," he choked, black spots swimming across his vision in steadily growing streams. The dots seemed to center and multiply in his vision, creating a world of grey and shadow mixed with the florescent white of hospital light. New faces appeared next to the woman's, their foreheads creased with a new kind of concern, one tainted with urgency. The face next to her caught his attention, a young man's form with ashy hair and piercing blue eyes…

"Dick?" Tim gasped, his hand reaching out toward the face of his brother. Despair almost cut him deeper than the pain he felt in his body when his hand closed around nothing but empty space.

"Sir, you must remain calm and still for us, ok?" Dick replied. After addressing Tim, his brother looked up, peering at the other faces floating around Tim. "Be advised,we've got possible hallucination due to trauma. Patient is unstable." Dick spoke, but the words floated over Tim. All he knew is that, his brother was loosening the heavy straps that were wrapped around Tim's legs.

Tim tried to answer, his fingers still struggling to grab at his brother. However, the sensation of more straps digging into his skin and back ripped a short sharp scream from his lungs, and he forgot the emptiness of his hand. A new sound joined the cacophony of noise competing for dominance in Tim's head. This particular sound happened to come from him, which scared him all the more. A low gurgling sounded from his throat as he coughed, dark splashes of crimson spattering his already soiled Dr. Who t-shirt. Dick's eyes widened as he leapt to the side of the gurney, pressing white circles laden with wires on Tim's chest.

"He's going into cardiorespiratory arrest! I need that crash cart!" Dick's yell was the only sound that reached Tim's ears, the frantic scene of the emergency room dwindling into nothing as he felt the blackness swallowing him whole, his vision tunneling out into dark, like spiraling waves.

_Ah, there is the warmth again… _But not even his thoughts could follow the emptying pathways of his subconscious.

Dick's voice was also receding rapidly into the distance, barking directions at the other orderlies to get the paddles ready.

_Always fighting to the very end._ Tim thought fondly of his brother. _Maybe he'll understand later, maybe never, but I know, I know I don't have to fight… Can't he understand I am warm, I am safe… _

Dick's words became muffled until he was merely moving light.

"Clear." The crisp word shot through gentle darkness. His body lurched. A sharp burst of pain clawed through his body, Tim screamed with the impact. The agony was so much, he finally broke. A snap occurred deep inside Tim that snuffed out every sensation of his body. He couldn't even question the reason for the all consuming shut down, because he knew, it was the feeling of having life shoved back into one's veins. He floated on a new cloud of darkness, one that dulled the entire world, leaving Tim feeling out of focus. The world around him turned from deep purple to pitch black. The lacerating burns that had racked his limbs before had subsided to a slow ache, with even that steadily abating with every nonexistent breath. He couldn't even feel the rush of air through his lungs, that soft pulling and whooshing, like ocean waves on a beach.

* * *

Outside, in Gotham General's long grey halls a family sat, cast in shadow. Dick sat on the end, next to Damian, and Alfred sat next to Bruce, who was on the other end. Father and son hadn't spoken since the EMTs pushed Tim through Gotham General's double doors. Even then, Bruce merely asked if Dick had retrieved Tim's phone from the crash, to which the answer was no.

Between his fingers, Dick rubbed the edges of his stitches together, the only movement keeping his brain from exploding. He'd followed Tim for as long as the ER doctors would let him, his mind constantly calculating, weighing his brother's injuries with his spirit and will to fight for life. When Dick was carted off to the nursing station for stitches and a concussion test, Bruce took over, and that stung the most.

Not even in the hospital, could he protect his brother, Dick just failed. Security had to come and pull Dick to the med-bay because he refused to leave his brother. Only a cold look from Bruce could forced the young acrobat into the submission of the guards.

He couldn't take it anymore, he needed to say something.

Dick didn't like hospitals. He didn't like staying still. Most of all, he hated the combination of being at the hospital, forcing himself to remain lame while Bruce mentally grilled him. Just two seats away, Dick felt the questions Bruce was itching to ask. Dick understood the war between wanting Tim to heal, and wanting revenge for a perceived wrong. Hell, he sympathized with Bruce, but he wasn't about to sit around and pretend everything was fine between the two of them, especially when it was clear Bruce blamed Dick for Tim's injuries.

Dick stood up. He walked over and took a seat next to Bruce, who was furiously typing on his laptop, the pounding the keys like the pounding of fists against criminals. Bruce ignored his blue-eyed son's presence, hoping that he'd just go away. Dick pushed the hair from his eyes with stitched fingers, and got up again, this time standing in front of Alfred. The old butler had grey terror in his eyes when he looked up at his young grandson.

"Alfred, do you think you and Damian could get me a tylenol or something, I'm feeling a bit sore." Dick said. They both knew there wasn't any pain killer for the real agony coursing through his heart. However, the butler rose, ever proper in his posture, waking a half-sleeping Damian.

"I believe that is a good idea, Master Damian," the butler grabbed the pouting boy's arm. "We will see to your brother's headache, and maybe a hot chocolate for you as well." Alfred finished, and Damian _tted, _then the two disappeared into shadow down the hall.

Dick sat back down, but Bruce spoke first.

"What did Tim share with you about the case?"

Dick tried not to roll his eyes, this was exactly the kind of avoidance he expected from Bruce. Clasping his hands together, Dick mused his two courses of action. He could go along with one of Bruce's safe topics, or he could get to the heart of the divide between them before it grew further. Bruce would not make confronting that issue easy, but Dick knew it was necessary for the preservation of their relationship.

"Tim talked about hacking Center Tech-"

"Was he successful, I'm assuming so, of course…why else-" Bruce trailed off, punching away at the keys again. The set of his jaw was tight, slightly rotating, chewing on the words he wouldn't voice.

"Bruce are we going to talk about the crash or-"

"Not yet." Bruce growled, clearly barely concealing his rage. The fix of the billionaire's eyes fell to an opening door at the end of the hall. A balding man stepped out, crestfallen. Bruce laser focused on the doctor's name tag, and his heart sank. With a clap that echoed far too loud in the otherwise mournfully silent hallway, Bruce closed his laptop and approached Dr. Turner.

Dick followed close behind, carrying Bruce's laptop bag over his shoulder. He took the thick leather handle of the bag between his shaking hands and breathed. Like a tick, he ran his other free hand through his mop of dark hair.

"Dr. Turner," Bruce said, "what is my son's status?" The command of Bruce's voice didn't seem to filter through to the tired doctor. The doctor took a small handkerchief from his lab coat pocket and mopped his head with worn blue fabric.

"Timothy Drake," the doctor began like an after thought, "that boy, he fights hard." Dr. Turner smiled tiredly. "He suffered several broken ribs, a contusion to his right lung, and cerebral hemorrhaging to an undefined extent, likely sustained from the impact of the blow. In addition, his heart rate became critically low, so we administered an emergency defibrillator to bring him back. He is being moved up to the ICU for further care for his ribs and specialized brain treatment that I can not provide in the ER. When you go upstairs, please check in with Doctor Callahan our resident brain trauma expert." The doctor finished on what seemed to be one breath. Dr. Turner shrunk into his lab coat slightly at Bruce's hard blue eyes.

"Would it be possible to bring up a family doctor to supervise?" Bruce asked, continuing on the same breath, "it is critical that someone who is familiar with Tim be informed on his condition. I assure you, Dr. Tompkins knows the proper protocols for ICU."

"I'm not sure Mr. Wayne, we have-"

"a wing that I dedicated to the prestige of this hospital. Don't make me regret my investment Dr. Turner."

That was just the push the tired doctor needed. He mopped his forehead again, just as two other doctors came running down the hall.

"Dr. Turner, we have a critical gunshot wound that-"

A new light flashed in the eyes of the doctor as he turned back to Bruce. "Have your Dr. Tompkins scrub in on a provisional basis." With that, the doctor rushed back through the doors from where he first emerged.

Dick caught his breath, or maybe he just forgot to breathe. His brother was being moved up to ICU, and it was his fault. The conversation Bruce had with Dr. Turner after the mention of intensive care was only a gargled blur. He could only hear the guilt ringing in his ear like a horn, like slammed fists on the steering wheel. Dick knew though, he couldn't think that way, but he had to, Tim was his brother. Suddenly, the pain of the crash came rushing back like a nightmare except Dick was wide awake. The sight of Tim's limp body, hanging up-side-down flashed like fire before his eyes.

The familiar pricks of the glass sticking in his hand, turning them red with guilt. A surge of adrenaline pumped through his veins, fast forwarding the flashback playing before his eyes. Hot heat, loud yells, colors, the red and blue and red again. All of the stimuli smashed together like a different kind of accident that left Dick breathless and woozy. He stumbled, a rare thing for such a coordinated acrobat.

Stumbling wasn't in his nature. Then again, nothing about this flashback felt natural. The world tipped, and Dick tipped with it. Gotham General's long hall extended out, and Bruce felt so far away. Nothing anchored him to this world, so he fell. First to his knees, then his legs, then the computer-bag along with the rest of his abdomen and shoulders.

When his head struck the floor, he blacked out.

* * *

Red Hood watched the windows lining the side of Gotham General with concentration in his eyes. He hoisted the package he'd been carrying all the way from Crime Alley. This was his final stop for the night. The darkening sky stretched out behind him like a tree with midnight colored leaves, under the moonlight he grappled to the next building. Landing across the street from Gotham General, atop a warehouse that housed equipment, he paused. The clang of leather hitting metal was the only sound Jason made as he got in position once again.

With laser like focus, he found the seventh floor ICU, where his replacement was currently fighting for his life. And though, in the past, Jason had tried to kill his replacement, he didn't like the idea of a stupid car wreck ending it all. Jason understood more than most, the right to go out on one's own mission, own will. No person, no matter what their order in the line of robins deserved to have that right stolen. That precious right insanity stole away from Jason.

That's why he brought the package. It would help save Tim's life, he knew it. It would help him too. The mutual benefit of a shared madness, that was the motivation for Jason to save Tim's life. That and the ultimate justice served directly to Bruce.

He planted his feet near the roof's edge and shot a line out. With perfect aim, the hook caught right above Tim's ICU window. Jason swung his feet out into the night air and readied himself for a silent impact.

_**A/n- My thanks go out to everyone who took the time to give my brain bunny a first try. More over, my thanks go out to all those on FF who favorited or followed and/or favorited this story. Finally, a huge thanks to all those readers who took the time to drop me a dime in the review box. **_**_Seriously? over 10 reviews? I am over the moon with the response RD has gotten. Thank you. _**

_**Update schedule: At least once weekly. However, if the interest continues to build I'll bump it up to twice weekly. In addition, there might be times when I update three times a week depending on my schedule. **_

_**Chapter three: I'll finally get to explaining the medical jargon I've been tossing around so nonchalantly. Keep in mind though, my area of most knowledge is the brain. **_

_**Possible OOC Jason: I set this in Prenew52, so Jason is kind **_**_of a mystery to me as I picked up in the New52, however, I have extensive knowledge of his character and motivation. He is still the Jason teetering on the edge of insanity who is out to pull his brothers and Bruce down with him. Keep in mind I wrote the first draft of this at 2 in the morning… _**

**_Finally, there is a reason I set Rapid Deterioration in the PreNew52 as this story will tie into a famous Batman arc very soon. _**

**_As always, any feedback where you see grammar errors is much appreciated, especially considering the time I finished this. I actually didn't proofread too much because I wanted to get it out to you lovely readers! _**

**_Please review: Questions about medical terms you don't understand, or you want me to explain more about are welcome as well. I'm curious to know what everyone thinks Jason is bringing Tim. Also, what the hell happened to Dick? Finally, what was Bruce working so vehemently on. Will they find Tim's missing phone with the only leads to their case? Predictions in the review box are always_ awesome_ to read! _**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or any of the characters in Rapid Deterioration._**

* * *

_Chapter 3_

_Brain Bleeds in Shades of Blue_

_"Nightmares are built in shades of blue _

_Like the foundation of flame_

_ Should've held on tighter to my soul, but I let it slip _

_And sorrow is what the fire showed me_

_A brain burning in shades of blue_

_And I've painted myself into a corner_

_In this, my flame of mind...__" An Original MC poem_

"Fighting hard…broken ribs...ICU…cerebral hemorrhaging…" words raced around Dick's mind like roulette. Every diagnosis Dr. Turner muttered etched Tim's fate into stone. Fate had loaded the gun long ago, and now, external stimuli merged with internal turmoil, overloading Dick's ability to process reality. The end result had him on hands and knees, at the mercy of a loaded gun, destined to go off.

_I didn't save my brother_. _  
_

An invisible trigger was pulled by Dick's subconscious, his memories were the shrapnel, wedging minuscule dagger like abrasions to his psyche. Unlike the body, you can't stitch up a soul, and Dick was bleeding out, memories flooding to the forefront of his mind like poison that left him paralyzed.

Dick found himself there again, and the car was there too. A black SUV became a black deathtrap, laying limply like Tim's body just inside. Suspended in the jaws of the flashback, Tim hung like a puppet without strings. His usual lively azure eyes rolled back into his head, as if Tim were saying goodbye to life. As if he were saying a slow painstaking goodbye to his brother and betrayer, Dick.

On the floor, Dick's body went into a rocking spasm, arms and legs jerking, cracking, causing tares to form at his joints. Tares that he would feel upon waking, like soreness from a long night's patrol. His body though, that was merely an unfortunate casualty of his internal war.

The vision expanded, like a camera panning wide, Dick saw and heard in illuminated detail the damage roiling around him. Most of all, his car, parts of the black SUV scattered like bones around the wreckage, a graveyard of metal and fire and Tim was in the coffin.

His hands burned as he tried without success to free Tim from the wreckage. Dick's limited progress was only magnified by his limbs aching in heavy exhaustion. His subconscious mind searched for some sort of closure, but his soul wouldn't let him have closure, not yet.

This was the pain he owed his brother and his father.

Bruce saw his son's crystal blue eyes cloud, then roll back into his head as his body fell to the floor. In a sprint that would make the Flash jealous, he planted himself next to his son. Bruce didn't care about the way he looked, or what the press had to say. There was only him and his son, together.

Right now his son needed help. Bruce produced his iPhone from the inside of his jacket. The small black rectangle glowed with white light in the shadowy corridors of the ER. He skimmed past a few business texts and a text from Clark about some missing teens. He'd heard about the abduction and had put Barbara on the case. Normally, teens going missing wouldn't be such a cause for alarm, but these kids were metas. Even though Bruce didn't trust metas as far as he could throw them, which was probably pretty far, depending on said meta. He still didn't like the idea of kids getting kidnaped, metas or not.

His large thumb rested on Alfred's name. After pressing lightly on the screen, he typed a message to Alfred, knowing he'd get it right away.

_I'm with Richard. He's just gone into a seizure, most likely induced by shock. Tell Damian to get some doctors and bring them to the ER __entrance, where we came in. Make sure Tim is stabilizing and check Lesley in._

Anticipation flickered in Bruce's focused eyes while he watched the three small dots wiggle on his screen as Alfred typed. The few seconds it took for Alfred to reply stretched on slowly, suspending Bruce in an uneasy pseudo-reality that sent nerves twisting in his gut. Finally, when the words appeared it was a welcome reminder he truly was not alone.

_I'm sending Damian over right away. I know you will keep me in the loop, just as I will with Timothy. Lesley has not yet arrived, but I shall inform the nurses in ICU of her eventual arrival. I assume it is not a problem with the hospital. _

Before Bruce could feed Alfred the same line he gave Dr. Turner, his phone buzzed. Another message came in, this one from Wally West, the JL's current Speedster. He didn't pay much mind to it because it was on the group's civilian strain. The current fastest-man-alive probably wanted to pony his shoes or something, he was often doing that. However, when the banner dropped down Bruce froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. The first few lines of the message hooked him like an information junky, and Bruce craved his next fix.

_Anyone look outside recently, the sky is red, not a cool kind of red either… _

With a strike of his thumb against the screen, Bruce viewed the entire message.

_ This is…a crisis kind of red. I don't know what is going on, but I think we should meet soon. I don't like crises because the man in my position normally ends up dead. I don't want to jump to any conclusions, but we need to ALL meet soon, even if it is just to placate my fears. Please. _

That had to be the logical thread that tied Center Tech to Gotham. Bruce's investigations into CT were revealing less and less of a Luthor connection. There was, of course, evidence to suggest Luthor was indeed trying to move in on Gotham's arms trading. However, for such a mastermind, Luthor wouldn't make it easy to prove his connection. Bruce even doubted Luthor knew Center Tech was attempting to use him.

Even if it wasn't another crisis, which he sincerely hoped it wasn't, not many villains would have the guts, nor stupidity, to use Luthor as essentially a scapegoat. The conjecture seemed to fit his investigation, and he owed it to the other members of the JL to inform them, especially if this turned out to be a final crisis.

_I agree with Wally. A meeting is in order. _

With Bruce's blessing the impromptu JL meeting was only a matter of time. Idly, Bruce wondered if he could get the whole team to meet him at Gotham General. Now, that it was clear he would be spending a lot of time with his boys, helping them recover, he didn't want to leave. Really, there was no other option. At least until he could move them back home safely.

For now, he could only trust his gut and the rage Luthor would no doubt have when Bruce told him an outside entity was trying to give _him_ the slip.

He owed Clark fifty bucks and an apology for the next message he sent.

_Lex, I think we should meet. Something of mutual interest has come to my attention. In light of recent personal matters, I would appreciate it if you could take a trip to my side of town. Lunch. Tomorrow. Gotham General __Hospital Cafeteria. I hope you like jello._

Bruce placed his phone back in his pocket. Now it was just a matter of time before Damian appeared with the doctors to help his son. Until then, he smoothed Dick's unruly black hair back from his face. While brushing his son's hair back, Bruce rediscovered the small cowlick at the top of Dick's head. It was like rediscovering that Dick was a child again, not only that, but his child.

Bruce became a father, a rare phenomena that he still had yet to perfect, and that made it all the more genuine. He was messy, he was unsure, but he was himself. He never wanted his boys to suffer, for anything. However, his heart was twice the man he could ever be in word. Words hurt. Words were complicated and slow, easily manipulated and misunderstood, but honesty of action, of a father holding his son, that could never be misinterpreted.

Shaking with one large tremor after another, Dick's body convulsed. The young acrobat's head snapped back, and Bruce placed his jacket under Dick's head before it struck the cold ground. Spreading warmth of rediscovering fatherhood was quickly transformed back into cold adrenaline as Bruce helplessly watched his son suffer. It was evident Dick was trying to shake himself free from whatever hallucination had claimed him, but so far, he was having no luck.

On his hands and knees, Dick fought through the debris clouding around him. He didn't know how he knew, but he was running out of time. He needed to save his brother faster. He dug, dug, and dug, until metal was no longer metal, and a car wreck was no longer a car wreck. Instead, of clawing away at hot metal, he was clawing away at thick muddy dirt. His hands came away from the earth black. A coffin appeared just beyond the ground in front of Dick. The durable shiny surface almost camouflaged in the mire surrounding him.

_I didn't save my brother._

Dick threw up his arms, sending dirt into the dark sky. When he looked up to the sky, his face was a mask of grief and agony. The lines of his face stung with hot tears. Thunder cracked overhead, lightning split his nightmare into two incongruent pieces. He felt the sharp fragments like the memory of glass stuck in his hands. The sky folded in on itself, aftershocks sent more dirt flying. When dirt went up in the sky, metal fell down in its stead. Sharp tips like cat nails scratched Dick's face and exposed skin in a sudden automatic rainfall. He was back on his knees in front of the same black deathtrap, crying out, or maybe just crying.

"Help me!" He begged.

"I'm here." Bruce soothed, he squeezed his son's hand. There was no hiding the fact that his hand was shaking along with Dick's. Bruce lived as a victim of his psyche, as much as he used the darkness, it used him as well. He didn't think of himself as a victim though, because he'd acquired the tools to fight the darkness in him. Dick had never been a victim of his psyche. He shined brightly, for him darkness and shadow were merely camouflages, but something had changed.

The transformation was what scared Bruce. He didn't know what kind of man Dick would be when he woke. However, Bruce was sure Dick would be different. He squeezed Dick's hand again, brushing a thumb over his veins in a gentle circle.

On the other side of the gurney, Damian shrunk back at the sudden outburst. There was a maddening quality to the way Grayson's head snapped back and forth, like a possessed man. Bed rails rocked as Dick fought for freedom against straps being tightened over his midsection. The torment rich in every angle of his body made Damian more than fearful for his brother. Damian wanted to jump onto the gurney and hold Grayson down himself, just to get him to stop flailing.

Then there was the screaming, it was like no madness Damian had ever seen before, and Damian had seen madness. He knew the way it reached in and corrupted the vessel it chose to inhabit. More than ever, he hated Drake. He hated every fiber of Drake's stupid body for causing Dick to feel this kind of pain and madness. It didn't take a registered psychologist to deduce that Grayson felt guilty for not saving Drake. You know what, Damian hoped Drake lived so he could put him back in the hospital. Drake was always in the way, and some day soon Damian would ensure he never got in the way again.

Bruce saw in Damian's eyes a fear and sorrow that cut deeper than any knife. It wasn't Damian's age that broke his heart so much as the knowledge that Damian understood completely what was going on. His brother, probably the closest connection to humanity Damian had, and Bruce was including himself in that statement, was shouting and suffering uncontrollably. Bruce truly understood the enormous risk he was taking with Damian. If Damian lost any connection to humanity, then there would be no doubt, the assassin in him would seek revenge. He just hoped he could show his son that Tim was not at fault. He hoped Damian would not make that leap.

"Mr. Wayne, I strongly advise you to allow us to give Richard a sedative now. His heart is beginning to race and he could end up hurting himself." Dr. Turner, the bald wonder was back and strapping yet another Wayne to a gurney. The handkerchief toting ER doctor remembered the family of shambles and offered to help when Damian was gathering a few doctors. Apparently, Dr. Turner held some weight in the hospital. After he confirmed he'd help Damian, other doctors started coming out of the woodwork. In all there was a team of three doctors, led by Dr. Turner, and one EMT nurse who remembered Dick and Tim from the crash scene.

"Mr. Wayne," A different voice chimed in.

Bruce looked over his shoulder at a man with stringy arms and limbs, running, trying to catch-up to the rocketing gurney.

"Yes." Bruce began, "Can I help you Dr.-"

The tails of his lab coat billowed out behind him as he caught up to Bruce. "Oh, yeah, Dr. Dare."

"Can I help you?" Bruce repeated while Dr. Dare sort of just started staring off into space, green eyes wide. "I assume you are with the team responsible for helping Richard."

Dr. Dare nodded, "yes actually. I am a registered psychiatrist with Gotham General. You know something funny, this is my first day." The doctor laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "My Gran told me Gotham was a different type of crazy, but I never believed her…well until today-" Dare trailed off, glancing up at Bruce.

The giant emerald gemstones found the razor sharp icy steel of Bruce's eyes. There was no humor in those cold depths, "and you aren't laughing," Dr. Dare chuckled, clearly uncomfortable. "You know, my Uncle he always said I never knew how to tell a good joke. Anyway, this isn't the time for slapstick. Can I ask you a few questions about Richard? I need a basic relevant background so I can assess his cognitive thinking patterns."

Bruce wasn't sure about the new addition to the team. Normally he was always skeptical when it came to doctors of the mind. However, what better way to find out of Dr. Dare was just a nervous newbie, or something a little more dangerous.

"I'm listening," Bruce said.

"Good," Dare began, "approximately what time-"

"Help me!" Dick whispered.

"Dick, I'm still here." Bruce shushed back. He shot Dare a frigid look that told him to shut up, if he knew what was good for him.

The small plea echoed in Bruce's ears sharply. There was too much going on at once, questions from the doctors, the constant urge to ensure Damian was coping, worrying about Tim and Alfred and if Lesley had been checked in, and the low ache in his gut that suffered with his son. A web of confusion was thick in the hospital's air, Bruce felt like he was thinking through a haze. He needed to compartmentalize and channel the stimuli he wanted to analyze. There was no doubt something was off-putting with Dr. Dare, but that could wait for a minute. With the hand that wasn't gripping fast to Dick, Bruce rubbed at his temples.

The call was difficult. Bruce was acutely aware of how sedatives had an extremely negative effect on Dick. As another spasm wracked his son though, he found he had little choice in the matter.

"Mr. Wayne. We need an answer." Dr. Turner had finished with the straps and had moved on to examining the rest of Richard's vitals.

For all the life threatening experiences Dick had suffered over the years, first as Robin, then as Nightwing, a car accident should be almost negligible, almost mundane. Humanity had a sadistic way of reminding the bats that they were in fact mere mortals. Even though each and everyone of them had become something more, they would always be human. Bruce wiped a hand over his face and glanced down at Damian again.

Damian, who was holding his brother's hand. The worry and rage in Damian's eyes ensured Bruce that Damian was in fact his blood son. The youngest's eyes drooped almost closed, the smallest tear, like an echo of Bruce's own sadness slipped out of Damian's eyes.

He hoped this would be the right decision.

"Dr. Turner, please administer the sedative."

The EMT nurse looked up at Bruce. There was something that reminded him of Lesley in the young lady's grey eyes.

"Mr. Wayne, that is the right decision." She said, helping to stere the gurney around the corner. They were coming up on their final destination, the West Wing of Gotham General Bruce helped build by funding the expansion, and in return the hospital had named the wing after Bruce's deceased parents. Unlike the other parts of the hospital still under reconstruction, the West Wing was state-of-the-art and brand new.

Sliding glass doors opened onto a floor of well lit hallways and nurses' stations.

"Thank you Ms. Eastmen." Bruce said, he'd read her last name that was embroidered on the back of her navy blue EMT jacket.

"Please, call me Becca." She introduced, giving Bruce her hand. "Ms. Eastmen is my mother."

Bruce took her hand and bowed his head slightly. "Well, I guess that means you can call me Bruce. It seems as though you saved two of my boys today, for that I thank you very much Becca. I can assure you, you will be compensated for your kindness." He released Becca's cool small hand and took Dick's twitching fingers again.

"Bruce, if I can be frank, I'm not an EMT nurse for the money. I like the rush, that is all the pay I need."

Bruce smirked, "all the more reason you should be compensated."

"Bruce," she began, a grey seriousness filled her eyes like storm clouds. Her direct eye-contact was genuine. Bruce felt like he could truly believe her words. "I'm not going to leave Richard until I know he'll be safe."

"I'm counting on that." Bruce said. He hoped his assessment of her character didn't betray him.

Bruce now turned his attention to Dr. Dare, who had pulled a small pan and pad from his lab coat pocket. "If you don't mind, I'd really like to ask my questions before Richard wakes up. You know, I need to be ready for anything."

"Sounds good." Bruce began, "I'll leave Damian inside to call us when Dick wakes up."

Letting go of Dick's hand had to be the hardest action Bruce took all day. When his grasp was empty again, he felt the whole in his heart stretch wider. He smoothed Dick's hair back again and left Richard to the care of Dr. Turner and Becca. With Damian as overseer, Richard was in good hands.

* * *

"I thought you would be in here." Alfred said, closing the squeaky oak door with a solid click of a lock behind him. The old butler went to the window, he ignored the red helmet and gauntlets resting on the inside ledge in favor of surveying the outside. The vista of massive skyscrapers etched out in midnight would be breathtaking if Alfred wasn't privy to the rankness the city could conjure. On the ground below, cars and ambulances dropped off sick loved ones, knowing that half of the residents who checked in wouldn't check out. Hospitals were places of change, most of the time, abrupt and detrimental change.

"I assume you grappled to the building next door as to not draw attention to yourself," Alfred said, light catching his eyes. The glass wall of what appeared to be a bank across the street reflected in the lights of Gotham's emergency landing pad. There would be no way a bird could land atop the roof without being stopped. Even swinging from next-door would need to be timed perfectly to avoid detection.

"Helipads suck." Jason spoke, turquoise eyes lifting to the sky, "all those damn lights." He placed a hand on the windowsill, then on a small pouch he carried on his back. After touching the top, as if reassuring himself it was still there, he let his hand fall to his side, where Alfred saw his gun out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes well, I shan't remind you to watch your language, shall I?" Alfred chastised, "As a young man in training-"

"I'm not a young man," Jason snorted, blinking slowly. Patients had been tested, it was clear Jason had very little, even for Alfred. Jason never really blamed Alfred for his ultimate betrayal, but the old butler still represented the life that had betrayed him. In Jason's eyes, that was enough to make him a shade guilty. And for Jason, it only took a comment to turn guilty into dead.

Alfred chuckled, pulling the old mothball eaten curtains back into place. Alfred knew that Jason wasn't just all talk, but that still didn't make him feel any less safer around his grandson. He'd help raise the boy, he probably knew the boy better than Bruce. "I see, well then might I inquire, what are you?" Alfred finished, a soft scraping echoed as the rusty curtains were tugged back into place.

The room was shrouded in shades of grey light, and Alfred immediately regretted his question.

"A zombie." Jason declared, "I am the walking dead reminder that we aren't immortal. Because even if Dick dies, even if the replacement dies, even if they all fucking die it won't be their fault. It won't be because they didn't failed the mission, they are the good soldiers. I am just the regret." Jason spat, coming alive with the hottest emotions boiling in turquoise eyes that seemed to light themselves.

"Jason you can always come home-"

"I'm a street rat, there is no home for a punk like me. I'm…I'm poison. I've got fucking poison in my blood, you don't know how that feels. Unnatural-"

"Stop." Alfred said, forcefully shaking Jason's shoulders. "How dare you say that about yourself. You are my grandson and a Wayne no matter what. I must apologize Jason, but you need to know something about being a Wayne. Bruce failed to teach you this. The path of a Wayne is a dark one, you know this. However, what you may not know is that your path is never journeyed upon alone. You are never alone, and if you are, it is by choice. Bruce may not approve of your methods, but he admires your strength."

"Why?" Jason cried. "He is the goddamned batman!" His fists hit the wall just behind Alfred. The reverberations he felt in his knuckles echoed his pain and anger. He was poison. The Lazarus pit had changed him, to put it in mild terms. Rising from the pit was more like emerging from a storybook only to realize that you are the monster that keeps kids up at night. He journeyed all the way back from the dead, and he did that by himself.

Alfred felt the foundation of the wall behind him shake at the force of Jason's blow. He placed a hand on Jason's taut muscles, when his phone buzzed. The small vibration almost made the butler jump. He was afraid with all this stress his heart was at risk. Nonetheless, his heart remained strong, it would need to be because the family was counting on him. He squeezed Jason's arm lightly, looking into his downcast eyes, knowing this overdue conversation was not even close to being over.

"It is more important than this." Jason said, taking a seat next to Tim and seemingly calming down.

"No it is not. This is of equal importance to me, Jason." Alfred said, sitting next to his grandson. With his other hand, he pulled the hospital blanket over Tim's sleeping form. The doctors outside said he'd be out for a while due to his brain injury. For the brain bleed to heal completely, it was best he remain asleep.

His sad eyes scanned Bruce's message.

_Dick is awake. As soon as the doctors finish the examination, we'll head upstairs. Dick needs to remain in the hospital for 24 hours, preferably in bed, but that is not going to happen. For now though, he is still a bit sluggish and confused because of the sedative. How is Tim doing? Has Lesley arrived yet? Barbara should have gotten the file by now, I told her to send it to Lesley. _

Alfred smiled down at his phone and gently squeezed Tim's hand.

"Jason, things seem to be looking up for your brother," Alfred said, typing a quick message back to Bruce. He couldn't help the smile playing at his lips at the first bit of good news he'd read in a while. Dick would most likely need counseling for a few weeks but his symptoms could be treated. Besides, they still weren't past the four hour window that marked the end of shock.

"Well, isn't that great." Jason said, sardonically.

"It truly is-" The old butler looked up, eyes wide. Outside of Gotham General, an ambulance pulled up. Loud sirens thundered, filtering up to Alfred's ringing ears. Red and blue light thrummed in and out like his racing heartbeat, racing adrenaline.

Alfred dropped his phone. The small rectangle landed in a pile of mechanical brain fragments. He knocked over the water glass at his elbow, a puddle formed around the fragments of phone like a watery grave. The air in the room shifted, running cold. Alfred was forced from his dream and plunged straight back into the nightmare. For each shred of relief, there always had to be a counter apocalypse, smashing relief like a bug.

Jason had his gun. The barrel was pressed to Tim's bandaged head.

"Think about this." Alfred said, getting up slowly from his seat to stand across from Jason. He knew Jason. In his bones, he helped raise the scared and heartbroken boy standing before him. Alfred had to keep that in mind. Though Jason had grown, he truly hadn't changed as he like to think. There were still many endearing aspects to his character that Alfred had to keep in mind as well. Under his mask of hate and villainy, a heart still beat, and his pain was most definitely real.

"Wrong thing to say." Jason rasped, cocking the gun. His teal bloodthirsty eyes were hot with the fever that only hinted at the illness of Jason's soul. It would be easy for him to look out of control, but Jason appeared just the opposite. Blood raced through Jason's body, and it felt so good, he was finally in control again. He had the power, the choice. His power allowed him to save Tim's life or sentence him to death.

This was his brand of justice. He was going to take from Bruce what madness had taken from him. This world would be better off with one less bird and one more hood. Someone who could see the world for what it was, a rotting messy place. The only way to clean the streets was to get ones hand's dirty. In the coming storm, there needed to be more than Batman. Not even Batman could protect the world from falling skies and falling gods. Really, he was just saving the world.

_Maybe Bruce will avenge this one._

"Jason. Come in from the cold."

"Alfred, I've been cold so long…there is no more warmth." The statement was a bit melodramatic, but it worked for Jason.

He raised the gun to Alfred. "I don't want to kill you for this, but I will shoot." Jason took the pouch from his back with his free hand.

"What, what are you doing?" Alfred stammered, a pain starting in his chest. He cursed himself for dropping his phone. He didn't want to call out because, no matter what, Jason was still his grandson and he wouldn't betray him. If he called out, Jason would either disappear forever or get caught by the hospital guards and end up killing one of them. Either way, he was sentencing a loved one to death because he had no idea what was in Jason's bag. For all Alfred knew, it could be ten sticks of dynamite or a miracle cure.

"This is what changed me. Look around you," Jason waved the gun around in demonstration. "Cerebral hemorrhaging, Alfred, you and I both know that is brain bleeding. I'm sorry but you don't just bounce back from that. I'm sentencing Tim to the same damnation I suffered."

"Jason, don't you want to give Tim the chance that you never had? You know what it is like to have your life changed by insanity-" Alfred covered his mouth. He wanted to faint. There was nothing he could do now. He slammed his hands down on the bed rails, jostling Tim's body still resting in the bed. His words lit the fuse that would destroy them all. He'd brought only his words and compassion to what he now knew from the beginning was just a gun fight. Jason had always intended to 'save' Tim this way. For him, this was justice. Jason died for what he believed was justice in his first life, nothing had changed.

"Now. This is me. Insanity. Fate. Changing life." Jason whispered, "you'll thank me for this someday, Alf." He tipped the contents of his pouch into Tim's IV drip.

* * *

**_A/n Wow, a lot happened in this chapter, huh? First, let me apologize for being basically a month late with this. However, this chapter is extra long to try and make up for that!  
I've had major writer's block lately. However, I have to give a special thanks to konohaflameninja and EGM. Those two reviews and all the reviews really helped me crank this baby out. Thank you so much reviewers! This chapter is thanks to your kind words and feedback.  
A second reason is that I'm trying to find my stride with this story. As you can probably tell by now, it will tie into Final Crisis and ALL surrounding issues. I'm just doing my own little take on one of the best DCU arcs ever. That said, there will be more DC characters and I'm so looking forward to having Bruce and Lex eat jello together! _**

**_Please review and tell me what you think of the chapter! I really love getting feedback and chatting about the story. How about some predictions to get us started? What flavor jello will Lex get? How is doctor dare connected to Final Crisis? Where the heck is Wally, that he is seeing red skies? (think cities in the DCU) _****_  
_**

**_Finally: Thoughts about the poem in the beginning of the chapter. I have a plan that involves poems to parallel most, if not all, chapters. However, if this is not popular with you guys, I can just put them at the end or leave them out. Let me know in the review box please! _**

**_As always thanks so much for reading. Next chapter will be up sometime this coming week! _**

**_~MC_**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own any of the characters in _****_Rapid Deterioration._****_  
I apologize for being late with this…again. Also this chapter rewinds a bit of time to when Dick was still sleeping because we never got to see him wake up. _**

* * *

_Chapter four_

_Of Cruel Crucibles And Started Hearts_

_"Don't change the way you think of me_

_We're from the same story" _

_Avenged Sevenfold **Until the End**_

Damian's legs were crossed as he sat by Grayson's side. His white knuckles were clasped in his lap as he watched Grayson's heartbeat flash before his eyes. He found himself mesmerized, watching the sharp green line that tracked out Dick's heartbeat, peaking and cresting, like the phases of the moon in fast forward.

He'd never seen the rhythm of life before… It was beautiful in all its weakness, a fragility that was suddenly clear to Damian. Life could be etched out in a series of green lines, a simple pattern of inhale and exhale, pooling and whooshing. But weakness wasn't beautiful. So maybe life couldn't be beautiful because Damian had been taught to frown and dismiss any fragility.

His head met his hands, a shake, and a tear that he regretted as it fell from his cheek. Conflict burned in his eyes brimming with tears, each one holding the promise of betrayal like a small crystal clear prayer. If only his mother could see him now. She would laugh. No, not even. She wouldn't say anything at all. Her disappointment would be clear enough in the twist of her lips and the set of her eyes.

The betrayal made his stomach ache. A breath. He had to breathe. Crying like a pathetic baby, that would only serve to fuel his shame burning low in his gut like a blade. How many rhythms had he snuffed out? How many more would he extinguish? He must of looked like a madman, shaking his head in the low light that traced the pattern of Grayson's heart monitor to his cheek. Looking up, he wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve, rough fabric turning the sensitive skin around his eyes red.

He stuffed his hands back into his lap and forced himself to breathe steadily, matching his pulse to Grayson's reflecting on the walls in the dark room.

_Inhale._

Like his father and brothers before him, pain was the fiery crucible that cradled and forged them all into birds of prey. He thought his training and constant discipline were the kindling that lit the fire to his crucible, but he was wrong. His body didn't know suffering, no pain of the body could burn away his defenses, forging him into something greater. In body, he was already superior.

_Exhale._

His heart was weak though, and that's where the fire started. He let the big blue bird in, despite his best judgement. He ignored his mother's voice haunting him in the background, warning him of an event such as this. An event that tested the strength of his heart. He let the fire in, and the flames were doing their job. The crucible's fire burned away at the cruel edges of his once dormant soul, leaving him with sweaty palms, alone with just one thought. It echoed like Dick's heart monitor in the background, taunting him, mocking his resolve to endure the inferno.

_Inhale._

The thought was omnipresent at this point, a cruel cold reminder of his absolute inadequacy when it came to matters of the heart. Because _it_ was always that way, _it _wouldn't let the pain stop, and that's all Damian wanted. He craved a solution. He craved a cool bucket of water to wake him from this nightmare, this pain that was a growing compassion. However, the warmth of the glorious fire was flawed from the start because of Tim.

His teeth gritted together against the mental image of Tim's face. He hated Tim. He was truly inadequate, and Grayson was a fool for ever getting involved with him. Grayson was a fool for opening his heart to such an undeserving fanboy, father was too. But that didn't matter any longer, he would take the mantel of Robin from Tim. He'd snatch it up, tare it from his cold dead fingers if he had to. He was more than just a jealous brother, he was a furious brother. Not even a brother because he refused to think of Drake that way. There was nothing Drake could ever do to mend his stupidity, that was absolute. Drake was the only obstacle preventing him from forging an iron heart, one that might make Grayson proud.

But he couldn't forgive. If forgiving was compassion, then he'd have to suffer in the flames for a while longer.

Robin belonged to him.

_Exhale. _

Pride wasn't worth the heartache. Life was flawed because it was weak. A green series of lines, measurable and quantifiable. That's why there needed to be a Batman because a symbol transcended the fallibility of life. Batman and Robin weren't defined by such inconsequential measures, they were forever. And Damian's Robin was just beginning. He would show them all just how adequate he could be.

"D…Damian?" Dick's blue eyes flickered, his head pounding something awful. Rolling his shoulders, he took stock of where he was and the extent of his injuries. The last thing he remembered…

"Tim!" He shot up, back cracking, wincing in pain Dick ground his teeth together. An ache that could only be described as unexpected made Dick fall back down in the embrace of the hospital bed.

"Damn you." Damian shot back. "Did you hit your head so hard as to knock all common sense from your mind?" He got to his feet. The room spun, green lines of life blurring, increasing in speed as he made his way to Grayson's bed side. He ignored Grayson's gaze as he collected some pain killers from an envelope stationed next to him. The small orbs filled his hand, rolling around in his semi-open palm.

Dick wasn't such a fool as to not notice Damian's stranger than usual behavior. Something must have transpired while he was out. Disorientation weaved like a web before him, questions like prey stuck in the sticky cloudiness of his mind. Tim had to be fine…hopefully. A splitting headache erupted before his eyes, and he could have sworn he heard a honk, a tug, cutting the wheel to the right. Blackness, a thick cloudy darkness that threatened to consume him again just at the thought.

"Drake is in the ICU." Damian spat. He finished measuring the tablets in his hand. Dr. Turner had told Becca to administer the medicine to Grayson, but she had stepped out, claiming she needed air. Damian knew the EMT had meant to give him some time alone with Grayson, as if that meant something, and maybe it did. He still wasn't sure how he felt or should feel. He only knew the sting of betrayal joining the fire burning in his heart.

Grayson had called for Tim. Didn't he know that this whole ordeal was _his_ fault?

"Thanks Damian." Dick quirked a brow as the medicine was poured into his hand. He recognized a pain killer and an anti-inflammatory but the other pills were a mystery to him. As much as he trusted Damian, he wanted to know what he put into his body. More over, he wanted to make sure the seven tablets resting in his hand were absolutely necessary.

Damian watched Dick examine the pills.

He flared his nostrils. "Don't you trust me or have you lost that sense too?"

Dick closed his hand, hiding the medicine from view. He pushed his head agains the pillows, raven hair fanning out in the dim light like a dark halo. His blue eyes were slits as he considered. It didn't take him long to comprehend what was going on. The part that made him chew his bottom lip and damn his headache was the question of mending the wound. There was an inherent risk associated with love and brotherhood, a risk Damian's heart wasn't used to taking. His training taught him to eliminate risk, thus, Damian shut down his heart.

"Love hurts Damian. Brotherhood is complicated. I worry about you, and I worry about Tim-"

Damian did not want to hear about Drake. Why couldn't Grayson get it through his thick skull?

"Tim is the reason for this!"

"That is unfair Damian-"

"You are always defending him-"

"I defend you too," Dick breathed deeply. He ran his free hand over the bed rails until he reached familiar fingertips. The guilt he felt now would be nothing if he lost another brother. Flipping his hand up-side-down on the bedspread, he raised a palm to Damian. The promise was in the grip that fell into his hand like a prayer. His other hand might still be attached to the IV, but he didn't care. Dick ran a thumb under Damian's left eye, soothing the red and damp skin there.

"Grayson. I am so confused," Damian whispered. "I want…Drake should die for this." The crucible Damian felt like a knife twisted at his soft words. His heart was the pinnacle of conflict, a conflict that caused regret to brim on his dark eyelashes like rain.

Their suffering was too much. Somehow there needed to be light again. Instead of shadows, Dick and his family were in fool-blown black-out darkness. A group of lost souls searching for each other in their individual cold isolation. Well, that was enough for Dick. He was turning on the light and whatever darkness that remained could just dwindle, dwindle and die. He had to turn the sun back on, starting with warmth for Damian. This was his mission. Compartmentalizing would start with soothing his youngest brother, his own pain could wait.

"I know, little D," Dick pulled Damian's head into his chest. He ran a hand over Damian's locks of dark hair and inhaled his brother's scent. "I'm confused too."

"I'm so sorry." Damian was crying now, a puddle of a pathetic fool. This was what he wanted. He wanted Grayson to recognize him, except him. He craved to understand the rhythm of life the same way he did. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to forgive Drake for his crucible as well, but that was a stretch. Right now he did what he wanted. No matter how childish it seemed, he climbed into the hospital bed next to Grayson, who grinned a goofy grin down at him.

"Damian you never need to be sorry for a thought." He whispered. " You know, I'm sorry I'm not a better brother sometimes."

"But it is not a thought. I truly do not understand how you can give your love to Drake. He doesn't deserve a brother like you. You should just forget him."

"Shush," Dick chided. There was no stopping the tears freely flowing from Damian's eyes now. Wetness drifted through Dick's thin hospital shirt as he rubbed small circles into Damian's back. He'd always known this conversation would come, but he never imagined this way. A part of him wanted to tell Damian about what Tim had disclosed to him, but it was all a fuzz. Whenever his mind journeyed down that road, he found himself face-to-face with demons who threatened to pull him and his family back into the darkness. For now, he needed to focus on the future.

"Dami," Dick pulled his brother's face away from his shirt, light blue meeting dark in the dim light. A thumb came away wet when he wiped away Damian's tearing eyes. There was a flicker of eyelashes, then brightness. Dick looked up suddenly to see Bruce along with the EMT Becca standing in the door way.

Damian was out of his arms in a flash, closed off and in the dark again. Like a switch, his tears had disappeared, replaced with cold steely eyes so much like Bruce's own eyes the resemblance sent chills up Dick's spine. Lost in the dark again as well, Dick felt a familiar coldness crawl over his skin like a predator closing in. It seemed the sun of their world had indeed lost his spark.

"You're awake." Bruce said, his eyes widening in recognition at the site of Damian's wet face.

He promptly turned his attention from Dick to Damian. "Damian-"

Dick cut him off, shooting Bruce a glare over Damian's head. "I feel a bit sluggish and drowsy. Other than that, I would be better with some peace and quiet." The cold words were bitter, but sometimes bitter was best for Bruce. Dick knew better than anyone, his mentor often responded more to tough love than just love. However, it still hurt to see the slight infraction in Bruce's eyes at Dick's terse tone.

"Good. I'll let Alfred know you are awake and check on Tim." Bruce said, quickly stepping back as if struck by Dick's words. And really, it was a blow Bruce felt low in his stomach, no in his heart. Sometimes he wished he could just say how he felt, but he'd never been good with words. The saddest part was, at this moment actions weren't conveying the message he wanted to convey.

Becca cleared her throat, snapping Bruce from his thoughts. "You might want to include something about him being on bed rest," she stepped closer to the hospital bed, "at least 24 hours Mr. Grayson," she smiled.

Bruce had already closed the door and Damian had followed. Dick swallowed. He wasn't sure what his comment had cost him, hopefully not too much. The last thing they needed in the dark was more space separating them. He pushed yet another conflict to the back burner and turned his attention to Becca. Her brown hair had been tied into a bun since he last saw her, allowing Dick to see more of her face. With a start, he realized she had to be much younger than he originally thought. Her experience was in the set of her shoulders though, like an invisible weight hung there.

"Hmm, bed rest." Dick placed his empty fingers in his lap, marveling at the way the digits seemed to double. "Yeah, I think not." Dick finished, swallowing down nausea rising in his throat. The pain in his back turned his blue eyes to slits as his dark haired halo left the pillow. His strong shoulders wavered, lights and monitors spinning just in front of him. A shake turned into a roll because Dick didn't have time to sort out witch way was up. He just needed to move.

"I'm not stopping you from getting up, you are. Nausea is funny that way." She pulled up a chair, fishing through the small envelope Damian had pulled the medicine from earlier.

"Haha. Nausea is hilarious." He tried in vein to move his legs, but they felt stiff as rocks. With one hand still closed around the pills and the other tucked under his leg, he gritted his teeth together. This really shouldn't be so hard, yet his legs would only roll lamely.

Becca didn't reply, her dark brows wrinkled, confusion evident as a fingerprint in her intelligent grey stare. With a twist of her lip, she looked back to Dick. Hair in his starling blue eyes and a sneer on his mouth, she watched him fight against the sedative and mental exhaustion still coursing through him. She had to admire his strength, it was clearer than day he wasn't giving up any time soon.

She forgot about the empty envelope for a second, a hand resting on Dick's shaking shoulder.

"Now I'm stopping you," she smirked, "seriously. I can assure you everything will be better once I ask Dr. Turner for your medication. I guess the absented minded doctor forgot to stock your prescription, don't tell Mr. Wayne, kay?"

Dick opened his hand, tablets spilling on the white bedspread. "Sorry, we're used to self-serve at home," Dick had completely forgotten about the medicine in his hand.

"I see." She said, holding out a blue pill accusingly. "Do you think you can cure your trauma self-serve too?" The blue orb was dropped back into the envelope and sealed shut like a secret.

"I have no idea what your talking about." Dick blinked rapidly. He would never take extra medication, never. If he had his way, he'd wouldn't even take the drugs. A knot formed low in his gut at her accusation, that frankly, pissed him off. He was no druggy, he'd been out the whole time. Unless he'd found some magic way to conjure medication from thin air, he couldn't be blamed.

"Well, then who signed off on this medication? Dr. Turner, no matter how absent-minded would never proscribe this…this…" Becca trailed off, the volume leaving her voice at the sudden intrusion.

"It's Tim and Alfred," Bruce said, the door shooting open and closing the subject of Dick's medication.

Bruce's words hit Dick like a silver truck barreling around a corner. His mind whirled. Edges of his vision went black as he forced his brain to focus on Bruce's and Damian's stoical forms in the doorway. He forced his brain to focus and drown-out the pit forming low in his gut. Dick had a sinking feeling they needed to leave the hospital, it was no longer safe. It was just a gut feeling, but it was heavy like fate. And fate had a way of changing the course of a lifetime, at least for them.

* * *

"What the hell!" Lesley screamed. She dropped her bags in the doorway of room G13. One foot in the doorway and she already felt neck deep in a nightmare. A mosaic of black and white x-rays lined the wall to her right, but she couldn't spare a glance to the showcase. With the sound of running feet behind her, she cursed her knee jerk reaction. The ICU was about to look less like intensive care and more like a war zone. And she had just sauntered right on to ground zero.

Tim was flat lining. The heart monitor measuring his once steady heartbeat had been disconnected from the mainframe and silenced. In its stead there was only a solid green, unmoving, static, line locked in paralysis.

"Hey doc." Jason twisted around to Lesley, a mask of madness plastered to his face with a smile. There was no running footsteps or overpaid target practice that could bring him down from his high right then. It was as if he were a bird again, soaring above his broken city like a god. And that's what he had become. The power felt right in his hands, it dripped from his fingertips in hues steaming green.

In damning Tim, he'd saved the world. That was the power of a god. Ultimately, cruel justice hot as a crucible would rain down and he'd welcome the flames. The world was a lot like him and a lot like Tim now, in that it needed to die to become stronger.

"Jason," her gaze fell to Alfred, laying slumped in a corner. The butler's head was twisted at an odd unnatural angle. Between the moonlight that filtered in through closed drapes and x-rayes illuminated on the walls, Lesley wasn't able to see a pulse. Like the running feet closing in behind her she ran to Alfred's side. On her hands and knees she tried to ignore the moans coming from the hospital bed behind her, but she just couldn't focus. Relief and agony mixed like a toxic cocktail that brought Lesley's eyes closed, searching for the sobriety of concentration somewhere low in her heart.

At least Tim was alive.

"Hanging in there Timmy?" Jason taunted.

First Alfred, then Tim, then Bruce, Lesley had to get to work. With fingertips that wouldn't quit their shaking, she pressed them to Alfred's cooling throat. The contours of his collarbone were pulled taut like a puppet on short strings. One of his eyes was open, as if not daring to peak in on the nightmare surrounding them all. However, it was the closed eye that worried her, he couldn't close his eyes, not yet. Frantically, she searched for a gun shot wound, something.

"You wouldn't dare," She sneered, not bothering to face Jason behind her. Just below Alfred's chest cavity, wedged between his ribs, Lesley found a wound coated with blood. The bullet had to be small, but size didn't matter when it hit its target.

"Bruce thinks I would," he laughed. "According to dear old batdaddy, I'm a killing machine." Jason's voice broke on the last part, the secret stolen from his lips. No way in hell could he ever lay a hand on Alfred, but he knew his family felt differently. It never hurt to play a mind game with the Big-Bad-Bat, give the old man a taste of his own stupid medicine. If they thought him capable of killing the one person who'd always loved him, they were all fools and deserved the joke to blow up in their faces.

She had no idea what Jason was capable of. Either he was one hell of an actor or just purely insane, perhaps a mixture of both. What mattered was Alfred's pulse, a pulse that she had yet to feel. Everything in her body told her to start chest compressions, praying to whatever god that happened to have their ears on to just save him. And still, his one grey eye remained open, a ghost of life present within the dormant body.

"Doctor!" The footsteps had finally caught up to her. She looked up and the terror was in her eyes. Now things were going to get messy and innocent people would become the Red Hood's victims.

"Mmmm." Jason smiled, cocking his gun, "target practice."

He turned his attention from Tim blinking slowly in the hospital bed to the door. It was a good thing the Replacement was waking up, just in time for daddybats. No doubt they were just behind the goons filtering into the room. A group bust down the door completely, which Jason found unnecessary, the door was unlocked. He rolled his eyes at the inexperienced mall-cop wannabes.

His feet were planted at the edge of Tim's hospital bed, blocking his view. The mall-cops were in a loose diamond formation, the frontman boasting his gun in Jason's face. For good measure, and to show the losers he meant business, he shot the frontman in the leg. It wasn't like he was using real bullets anyway, but that was all part of the fun. He wanted to completely mind warp the Bat.

The heavy body dropped to the floor.

Lesley squinted agains the tears flowing from her eyes. She didn't cry, but this was just a pure nightmare. The first body had dropped in Jason's one man war against his family. The man's screams didn't fall on deaf ears, but there was little she could do. Jason had aimed for where the man's knee met cartilage, she knew by just looking there was little chance he'd walk again.

"Drop your weapon." A new frontman stepped forward, gun drawn. This man's cold dark eyes were fixed on the red helmet resting just behind Jason. It only took him a few seconds to place the spectacle. When he did place the helmet, his finger tightened on the trigger.

"Took you long enough," Jason said, making sure his face stayed cloaked in shadow. "It is nice to know my gear is more famous than I am."

"You're a murderer." The man spat.

"Your opinion of me doesn't matter. I'm just here as a delivery boy."

Tim stirred, jasper eyes like glowing gem stones opened and closed in the darkness. A voice filtered past the images still replaying in his mind, what a nightmare. He dreamt he was in a car accident and Dick was there too, it was just weird… Sitting up, Tim fell back down. Like the waves washing over the shore, the whole ordeal flew back to him in a folly of blood and sweat and bone.

And still that voice haunted him, but he couldn't focus on it. He should be out, unconscious at least. However, he felt alive and…on fire. There was something in his veins, it stung like bees buzzing in his bloodstream. It itched too, and Tim wanted to leave his skin. Prickles were like daggers, starting at the base of his spine and licking agony to the forefront of his head.

He grimaced, lips pulling away from his mouth, teeth baring agains the pain. His hands flew to his stomach, clutching his abdomen, he retched, eyes closing. Pulling back again, his body went through another spasm. This time bile like water forced its way up, covering his hospital gown in a thin sticky green liquid that looked all to familiar.

"No," He croaked, every cog clicking into place.

Lesley was now surrounded by a pile of what she thought were dead bodies. Doctors were pouring into the room, but they were too late. A white lab coat headed straight for Tim as Jason hid in the shadows. Guards still calling out, not seeing him before their eyes. To Lesley though, he appeared, whispering words just behind her.

"Lesley. I couldn't hurt much less kill Alfred."

When she turned he was a silhouette, blanketed under the night sky. A red helmet rested against the free air of a now open window, his calling card. She hated the helmet, but she could never hate its owner, only what it represented. That helmet served as a singular reminder of the fine line her family walked every night they geared up. Sometimes they crossed that line, but not tonight. As though a spell had been lifted, the nightmare ended with a heartbeat from Alfred.

"Ja-"

Lesley pressed a finger to Alfred's lips, a small thankful smile tugging at her mouth. There would be plenty of time for talking, right then, she just wanted to gaze into Alfred's two open eyes and thank Jason's heart, because he had one.

His fingers came away sticky with redness. "I'll need to stitch this up," Alfred said, closing his eyes against the pain. He almost felt disoriented, but the reason for the nightmare came flooding back to him in a flash of whispered words and broken promises.

_Tim._

How could this be? Tim had to be wrong, but nothing else made sense and that was the scary part. The water, the ache in his head like a slow burning agony, it could only be caused by one thing on earth. He'd encountered the deadly substance before, they all had. One too many times, on rooftops, in shootouts, in a brother than came back from the dead, forced to walk the path of revenge.

Lazarus water. It coated his lap and leaked from his mouth as his body rejected the fluid. Whatever happened, he couldn't let any doctors see him this way. Despite his nausea and extreme headache, he forced his body into motion.

But it was too late. There were what seemed to be dead bodies littering the floor, doctors running in and out, one heading straight for him. Disorientation started up as he seemed to be alone, there would be no way he could explain this. Medically, he was supposed to be dead.

"Don't move any closer," Lesley said. She was on her feet, Alfred standing next to her, a hand pressed to his side.

The doctor stopped mid-step, "he needs help, doctor." The young woman who was approaching Tim turned around with a scowl on her face. "Obviously, he's had some sort of allergic reaction. We need to get his vitals and clean out his system ASAP."

Lesley responded normally to the medical jargon and hard-headed doctor. "Thank you for your concern, but Timothy Drake is under my supervision. I will preform the necessary checks to ensure his health." She stepped in front of the other female, turning just in time to see Bruce and the boys standing in the doorway.

"Dr. Garcia," Becca began, "Dr. Tompkins is very capable. And this man," she gestured to a waking guard, "is in need of assistance." She wasn't sure why, but something about Bruce and his family seemed familiar, like she secretly knew and already trusted them. Her gut feeling didn't matter at the moment though, what she had to do was clear the room.

Lesley was already standing next to Tim. Her fingers taking his pulse and vitals expertly. In turn, he merely laid on the bed, mentally and physically tired. His exhaustion was so absolute he couldn't even focus on the fading voice taunting the recesses of his mind. Besides, there could only be one way he'd have Lazarus water in his blood. That reason was named Jason, who'd left his calling card on the windowsill.

"Lesley," he managed to get out, coughing. "you know what this is, don't you."

And she did. It terrified her. She had no idea how to tell Bruce or the family, or even how she could except it herself. When she'd read Tim's file, she knew immediately that his crime fighting days were over, indefinitely. However, if she x-rayed Tim's brain now, there would be no evidence of the cerebral hemorrhage or brain bleed. He had his life as a detective back, but at what cost to his sanity.

Dick slumped in the chair closest to Tim, watching the scene unfold with shallow breath. He was vaguely aware of Bruce standing by the window, Alfred standing behind him, and Damian left idle in the now closed doorway. The room was now quiet, the hospital's security staff had been shot with tranquilizers, not real bullets. Even though it wasn't like Jason to pull punches, Dick somehow knew killing wasn't a part of his mission tonight. Becca had cleared the room for them, following the waking guards and doctors to a medical station they'd passed on the way in.

He made a mental note to thank her once this was all over, it had to end sometime, right?

Bruce went to the window, fists clenching tight. He shut the window so hard, the frame shook. He'd analyzed the scene in a flash from the doorway, automatically deducing Jason from a very _very _short list of suspects.

There was a light tug on Bruce's arm, and he turned, shaking away the image of the hood staring at him.

"It is Lazarus water, Bruce. Tim will most likely be fine in a few days, but-" He didn't hear the rest of Lesley's explanation, a roaring rage had started in his ears.

Bruce took the helmet between his hands. The expressionless mask bore its unyielding eyes into him, into the darkest parts of him. Fury shot through his body like the bullet that killed his parents, changing his life forever. He bowed his head in surrender. The darkness may have finally conquered him.

"Stop laughing…"He whispered, sneered at the helmet of the hood.

From across the street, Jason snickered. He lived to light the fuse under Bruce's ass, and tonight had been a success in more ways than one. He'd managed to royally piss off Batman and impress his boss all at the same time.

"Mission complete." He said, speaking into a comm link full of static. "I've planted the seed."

* * *

**_A/n: Hm, well, hi? First I have to apologize, yet _****_again, for being so damn late with my updating. I have no idea what is wrong with my brain, sometimes I have tons of inspiration and sometimes I have squat. Needless to say, I went through another squat phase…  
We had a bit of a break from the Final Crisis references this chapter, but I promise, we are getting there. Events will be pulled from the plot arc very VERY soon. I actually can't wait for the next few chapters._**

**_Music and Continuity: The song "Until the End" by Avenged Sevenfold was inspiration for many of the themes in this chapter, check it out if you'd like. This is obviously set in PreNew52 and before Damian is actually Robin. Basically, this is when Damian first joins the family. _**

**_REVIEWERS: Holy cow thanks so much Batman! Your kind words and questions were the fuel that kept me going once I started. I can't thank you enough for all the support. Without you guys, I'd probably give up the story and my sometimes writers block. Please, if you haven't review before, I'd love to hear what you think of the story. If you have reviewed, you know what to do! Drop me a dime and tell me anything that pops into your head after reading this chapter, even if it is things I miss or things I can improve on.  
_****_As usual, predictions! They are my favorite part! WOOT WOOT! Who do you think Jason is working for? Who almost prescribed Dick a very dangerous medicine? Do you want to see a deleted Wally and Roy scene that fits into this chapter? Let me know in the review box below, please?! _**

**_Thanks so much for reading!  
_****_~MC _**


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